


Some Nights

by Baskerville2003



Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: Arthur Kirkland - Freeform, Francis Bonnefoy - Freeform, Gen, Hetalia, aph
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-07
Updated: 2018-10-07
Packaged: 2019-07-27 19:31:13
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,797
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16225811
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Baskerville2003/pseuds/Baskerville2003
Summary: A short oneshot. Could be considered FrUk. France shows up at Englands doorstep at some unearthly hour in the morning. England clearly isn't happy, but company might be just the thing he needs one such a lonely and cold night.





	Some Nights

England had not been expecting visitors. Especially not at three in the morning.

Hell, It wasn't as if it mattered. He had been up for hours anyway.

At first he had blamed the cold, after all, who could sleep when it was so damn freezing? However, after what had felt like hours lying awake with nothing aside from his own damning thoughts for company, he had given up on the wishful idea of sleep, and resigned himself to simply wandering the empty halls of his home. The cold wasn't the problem, it was the solitude. One could only cope with so much before it became almost maddening, and heaven knows it had been a while since England had had any sort of pleasant company.

World meetings were hellish nowadays England thought. Nothing but arguments and disagreements, old squabbles that would have been best left forgotten centuries ago brought back to light. And he had to see that bloody yank for one thing, just the thought of him filled could fill England's stomach with dread.

As the seconds passed by, it become more and more difficult to not succumb to the blessed oblivion of near death that alcohol could bring him.

Some nights were just worse than others he had long since concluded. The silence and solitude they brought was not always welcome. So when the shrill chime of the doorbell startled England out of his wistful thinking, he was almost glad. He was also just about ready to commit homicide. Honestly though, what bloody wanker would be visiting people at three in the damn morning.

England stormed down the stairs absolutely fuming. Whoever it was, they had better have a damn good reason for the disruption. His house was massive, too big for one person, but still, in the middle of bloody nowhere. Nobody should have even been able to find him. He could not fathom who it possibly was.

"Now what the bloody fuck do y-" England stopped in his tracks as he swung the door open and finally caught a glance of the figure outside.

Oh. Of course. He should have guessed. Who else would it be?

"France."

England's temper spiked. Out of all the people to show up on his doorstep, miserable and in utterly pathetic condition, completely bedraggled, why did it have to be him? Possibly the one person in the world that he wanted to see less than America.

"Now tell me, Frog," England spat with a dangerous edge to his voice, "What bloody sane person is up at this time"

France hesitated for a second, almost cut by the harsh tone and sharp words, along with the absolute venom England spoke with. This was clearly not the welcome he had been looking for, nor the one he needed at the moment. He looked a little lost as he replied "You are mon ame."

"Sane France, I said sane."

France didn't reply. He looked as if he was almost beginning to regret coming here.

He just looked, different... England noted. Too quiet and dejected. Nothing like his usual and admittedly rather flamboyant self.

It must have started snowing sometime during the night, as a thin layer of snow coated the ground outside, and small white flakes clung to the Frenchman's clothes. He looked pitiful. His usually flawless hair was windswept and messy. England noticed that he was visibly shivering, even with the several layers of clothing.

No matter how heartless England always tried to be, he just did not feel like letting his old friend freeze out here. He would never admit it, but right now, he could really do with some company himself. Mind you, that certainly didn't mean he cared for him.

"Oh alright," England said stepping aside to allow France through "Come on you bloody wanker. It's not like I was getting any sleep anyway. Besides," he quickly added, "I don't want to have to be the one to explain to Canada that it was your own utter stupidity that led you to die, albeit only temporarily, much to my and I am sure many others displeasure, of hypothermia on my doorstep."

With that, England turned around and stormed into the kitchen, leaving France to make his own way to the lounge room

England put the kettle on the stove to boil, and then after finally pouring two cups of Earl Grey tea, walked back into the lounge room.

He placed one down on the small coffee table in front of France with a clatter, and then assumed his position on the faded armchair opposite.

England held the teacup tightly in both hands, trying to soak up the warmth. Bringing the fragile glass to his lips, he took a small shaky sip, eyes not wavering from the figure across from him. Waiting, watching, for some movement, some explanation for his oh so sudden intrusion.

France simply looked on blankly.

"So, Frog, care to explain." England said, prompting conversation to break the uncomfortable silence. As much as he hated to admit it, he did not like to see such an utterly lost and vulnerable expression gracing Frances features.

Still no reply.

"Care to explain why you show up to my house half frozen to death looking absolutely miserable and dishevelled on this godforsaken morning. As if it wasn't already bad enough without you here and then-" England caught himself as he glanced back over at him. France looked on the verge of tears.

"Is it so bad to wish for some company?" He asked, ever so quietly, his tone and voice fragile, like it could break any second along with his composure, which was only barely keeping himself together.

France had brushed the brit aside on many other occasions, what gave him the right to come crying to England just because he had a bad night. He had plenty of other, no doubt better companions that he could run to, England thought bitterly.

"Hmm, let me think. My company, at this unearthly hour of the morning... yes." England said, as he placed the teacup back down on the table with a clatter and hauled himself to his feet.

France looked almost desperate as he stumbled to his feet after him

The Brit felt a pair of arms wrap around his waist and a head bury itself on his shoulder.

"Angleterre, please, I beg of you. Do not leave me!" France sobbed as he clung to England.

God, he hated this.

If he ever gave France even an inkling of how much he really loved the damn sod, then what would he get. Surely rejection and just years more of pain and regret. It was better this way. He knew how it would go. He had seen it happen to all the others, countries and humans alike, and he wasn't dumb enough to try it himself.

Sure France always showed interest in someone for a bit, but in the end, everyone was cast off. France had been chasing after him for centuries, but it would still end the same way. Only one person had ever managed to truly gain his affection, for as long as England could remember, and he had been responsible for her untimely death.

That was why he so fervently avoided any semblance of attachment, and was so often devoid of any signs of affection.

But England couldn't help but cave in, not tonight, when he also was in desperate need of company. He sunk down to the floor with France and simply held his warm body tight against his own.

It felt like hours to England, but was in fact merely minutes that they sat together. Quietly exchanging words, their conversation a blur between English and French.

"Je t'aime" France whispered.

He'd heard it before, but every time it still stung.

"No you do not, and if you do, you should not." England sighed. No matter how many times England tried to convince the Frenchman otherwise, he would never stop it seemed. France's persistence just made it all the more difficult to ignore his own feelings.

"Now come on." England gently pulled him to his feet.

"Get some sleep." England said, as he tossed him a blanket that had been draped over the back of one of the couches.

"Thank you, Arthur."

England was taken aback by the use of his human name, but he quickly brushed it off. He turned to head back upstairs as France settled himself on the couch. Maybe he could finally catch some sleep himself. Blimey, it was still so bloody cold though.

Halfway up the staircase, England made up his mind.

"Fuck this." He muttered. He was going to regret this later, but right now, England didn't really feel like being alone.

Making his way back down to the couch, he nudged the figure there with his foot until he stirred.

"Get your arse up." He said, turning back. France sat up, but made no further move. "Fine then, I'm happy to let you freeze down here if that's what you'd rather." Taking that as a somewhat backwards invitation to follow, the Frenchman quickly stood up, and trailed after England.

England led him up the grand staircase and down through a long narrow corridor.

The house was too big for such a small person, even an empire. Despite the somewhat homely feel, it was simply lonely. Therefore, it seemed England had taken it upon himself to fill the private rooms with mementos, reminders of his golden age of piracy. He had been the largest empire in the world after all, was it a crime to be so wistful of his former power.

Finally, England reached the doorway he was looking for. He held the door open and allowed France to walk through, before swiftly following him.

In the centre of the room was a large four-poster bed, the white blankets crinkled from where England had previously lain. The walls were again littered with old relics from the golden age of the British Empire.

"Stick to your side of the bed, and don't ever bloody mention this again." England said as he lifted the heavy quilt and climbed underneath, pulling it snug up to his neck. France followed, climbing into the other side. He pressed a kiss into England's forehead before laying down beside him.

Not even five minutes later, France already has his arm around England's shoulder, drawing him closer, but despite his earlier warnings, England did not complain.

"Arthur," France muttered "I love you."

"Je t'aime Francis. Je t'aime." England said, "But that doesn't mean that you aren't still a right bloody wanker. "

That earned England a kick under the sheets, however it was simply light and playful.

Eventually, at much too late an hour, the pair finally found sleep.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading! This is the first piece of fan fiction I've written, so if you have any criticism then please feel free to leave a comment, I would love to hear what you think of this. And yeah I'm aware that it's pretty awful, but I kind of wrote this without any idea of where the hell it was going as i just wanted to write some interactions between the characters. So there's my excuse. Anyway, thanks for reading, sorry for rambling a bit, and have a nice day!


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